


unwind

by wbtrashking (fan_nerd)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM - Relationship & Negotiation, D/S Culture, Fluffy Smut, Gradual Relationship, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_nerd/pseuds/wbtrashking
Summary: “You’re a control freak,” Hughes says. Mustang grunts at that. “What? Youare. Do you even know how to let things go?""No," the dark-eyed man quickly replies.“Listen, Roy,” Hughes continues, “What you need, my friend, is to relax. I have an idea. Just give me one chance to arrange something. If things don't work out, I’ll swear I'll never bring this up again.”Mustang agrees, if only to get Hughes to be drop the subject.The following Saturday finds Edward Elric at his door, and he's determined to show Mustang a whole new way to unwind.





	unwind

**Author's Note:**

> my name is ash, and also i love hughes!!
> 
> i had this idea on a 30 minute break and like. wowza. i did not expect. that this would become so long a fic? OTL
> 
> this is very much a labor of love and i had a lot of fun writing this. i hope you enjoy reading it! ♥

Roy Mustang loathes the quiet time between court-cases, researching and pulling files and grinding his teeth. He hates never knowing whether his clients will decide to stand trial or settle things outside of court. Still, as much as the menial work drives him up at a wall, it’s infuriating to have spent three frustrating months on a case, just to have said case come to an unsatisfying close.

Defending intellectual property is as elusive a task as the name itself implies. If Mustang weren’t enamored with the people and the pay, he would have changed his career path a long time ago, if only for the sake of his sanity.

As it stands, Hawkeye is driving him home after a long night—after a _series_ of those, really—and he thanks her with a wave, almost stumbling as he collapses onto the couch.

His condo is quiet and he falls asleep in his suit.

In the morning, he gets up, shaves, and shoots Hughes a message. _Are you free for drinks this weekend?_ After that, Mustang calls his paralegal, who has kindly offered to drive him to and from work while his own car is in the shop. She had explained the benefits two days ago, noting that she would have no need to wait for him to arrive and check over all of his documents in the late afternoon if she just picked him up.

Mustang had groaned at the prospect then, and he’s still disgruntled now. He’s up three hours earlier than usual, but the ride is worth it. The alternative is taking public transportation. He’d rather be kicked down a flight of stairs than to bother taking the metro.

By the time Hawkeye promptly idles in his driveway, Hughes has texted him back. _Finally,_ the message reads and Mustang smiles wryly. It’s been ages since the two of them have been able to meet up and chat. _Friday at 7? Usual place?_

 _Sounds good_ , Mustang types back after yawning and bidding his paralegal a good morning. _See you then._

Hawkeye nods back at her boss and pulls the car into reverse, weaving carefully through traffic and arriving at their office at ten minutes to eight.

 

//

 

“I feel like the most frustrating part of your job has got to be all the lying,” Hughes chides his best friend with a sharp look. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“It’s not _lying_ ,” Mustang corrects him with a soft scowl. “There’s a lot of hedging being done, I’ll give you that, but if I lied, it’d make closing cases about a hundred times harder. People are watching you to see if you’re lying all the time. Not to mention, the internet has made it almost impossible to get away with lying about stupid details in court.”

“ _Fancy_ lying, then,” Hughes quips back. “You take a bunch of hodgepodge facts and you turn them into a story that people want to hear.”

Mustang is tired of having this conversation with his friend, so he just rolls his eyes and stops arguing. Being a lawyer has taught him many things about debates. Most importantly, he’s learned when to quit trying to win them and learn how to turn pitfalls into advantages, or, in the case of Hughes, when to give up entirely. “Whatever you say,” Mustang grumbles, downing a mouthful of his whiskey sour. “Anyways, that’s enough about my summer—how was yours?”

It’s an easy out for Mustang. Hughes _loves_ rambling about his family, and Mustang can drink quietly beside him while he talks. The attorney is an avid listener. It’s part of what’s made him so successful at such a young age.

Hughes cuts out of his rant on Elicia’s dangerously high aptitude for science to pull the conversation back to his friend. He’s halfway finished with his second pint of a dark lager, and he damn-near breaks the glass when he slams it down, jabbing his finger in Roy’s face. “You. Tell me again why you’re too busy to go on a real date and settle down?”

Mustang sighs. He’d been roommates with Hughes in undergrad, and even then, his friend had made it something of a mission to try and hook Mustang up with someone. Back then, Hughes had seemed personally offended at Roy’s inability to settle down and form a lasting relationship. Mustang’s _problem_ had been that he’d been focused on school. Sex was nice, and even _dates_ were nice, but he didn’t think about dating in the long-term. Even now, Mustang has more important things to worry about. Friendships, for one. Work, for another.

Thinking about the past three months, where Mustang and his whole office had been run ragged, running on fumes and pushed to the point of exhaustion, Roy is reminded of how little time he has available. They'd barely succeeded in keeping their client’s business concepts and his intellectual property legally bound to his name and Mustang's whole office had been run to the ground. He's almost never home at a consistent time, and he has no energy for dating on his rare days off.

“You know why, Hughes,” Mustang murmurs around his third drink, eyes downcast. “I couldn’t do that to someone.”

Hughes sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _That’s_ your problem, Roy. You think about everything too much. You don’t have to be a perfectionist about it – maybe just sign up for an online dating service or something. Chat up somebody nice and see what happens. You’re so convinced that things will fail before they begin that you won’t even _try_ —that’s the worst part.”

Mustang simply shrugs. Hughes is right, after all.

“You’re a control freak,” Hughes continues and Mustang chafes at the moniker. “What? You _are_. Don’t you ever get tired of feeling like you have to have all of the answers _all_ of the time?”

 _No_ , is the shorter man’s immediate reply, and he’s a breath away from saying it to Maes before the other man cuts him off.

“Listen, Roy,” the green-eyed man chides him softly, “What you need, my friend, is to relax. I have an idea.” Hughes’s ideas are generally terrible, so Mustang steels himself for the worst. “Just give me one chance to arrange something. It’ll only be one session, and then I swear, I’ll never bring this up again.”

The word session sets Mustang ill at ease. It’ll probably be some unorthodox combination of therapy and a date, but Mustang is well-aware that there’s no chance of changing Hughes’s mind when he’s in a mood. He sighs and glowers at Maes. “Just _once_ , Hughes. I want your word that this topic is dead after I do this for you.”

“Shake on it,” Hughes honorably offers, putting one hand over his heart. Mustang scowls and shakes his hand, downing the rest of his drink to momentarily forget what he’s promised to do.

 

//

 

Mustang is restless.

The clock is steadily clicking. Hughes had told him to expect the guest at seven-thirty p.m., and to have light snacks available. There would be absolutely no alcohol ingestion tolerated, either before or during the session. Hughes had made him promise not to take a swig of bourbon to ease his stress. Mustang has _no_ idea who or what to expect, as his friend hadn’t done so much as to send him a picture of his guest.

The bell rings at seven twenty-five and Mustang nearly jumps out of his skin. When he opens the door, a man about his same height is standing there with an unreadable expression. He’s striking, certainly. He has golden eyes, a long ponytail sitting high on his head, and he’s wearing sharp black clothes from top to bottom. Mustang finds it a bit odd, as the weather outside is still quite warm, but he doesn’t comment on the blonde’s wardrobe.

“Roy Mustang?” The man asks, and Mustang nods slowly. “Cool. Your friend told me all about you. Just wanted to make sure I had the right place. Name’s Edward Elric.”

“Pleasure,” Mustang says, sticking out his hand for a handshake and gaping lightly when Edward pushes past him and ignores the gesture.

Edward sets straight for the living room to take a seat, eyes sharp as he studies Mustang. “You’re kinda young, for an attorney,” Edward comments breezily and Mustang ruffles at the comment.

“I took quite a few college courses in high school,” Mustang says lightly, still trying to read his guest’s expression. “Sped through my undergraduate, and I went straight to law school. I’ve been a practitioner for three years now.”

“Somethin’ to prove, huh,” Edward dryly remarks and Mustang finally quirks a smile at that. “I get that.”

There is a lull in conversation, which Mustang eventually alleviates by offering Edward something to drink. He asks for water, and Mustang gets both of them glasses before taking a seat again, drawing in a breath. “So,” he finally starts, “What is it, exactly, that Hughes has asked you to do?”

Edward’s eyebrows lift at that and he looks amazingly surprised at the question. Before answering, he chuckles lightly. “Wow, shit, you really have _no_ idea?”

Mustang frowns at that, feeling a bit concerned all of the sudden. “No, admittedly not.”

“That’s pretty damn awkward,” Edward says and Mustang silently agrees. “I moonlight in the BDSM community as a dom—a dominant partner. I’m kinda known for easing new people into the community, and the way your friend put it, I thought you were just interested in being an S—a submissive.”

Mustang’s head reels as he valiantly tries to process the words. He intelligently blurts out, “Excuse me?”

Edward sighs. “It’s, uh. It’s a lot to explain, I guess, if you don’t know anything about the community. Don’t worry about it. We won’t do anything tonight, especially if you’re uninformed. I can leave now, if you want?”

“No, it’s okay,” Mustang says, shaking his head quickly. “You can explain things first. Do I, er, need to pay you for your services?”

“God, fuck no,” Edward replies sharply, rolling his eyes. “I’d never ask somebody to pay me. This is somethin’ I enjoy doing, and most people in the community just like having a good time, y’know?”

“Sure,” Mustang replies blandly.

For the better part of an hour, Edward sits on his couch and starts talking about BDSM like most people in Mustang’s circle talk about the weather. It’s all very casual and calm, and Mustang finds himself snickering at Edward’s anecdotes about the last few years he’d fumbled around the community and made connections. The blonde isn’t really sure when his reputation for being a gentle, caring dom had carried quite so far on the internet, but here he is, only twenty-four and, apparently, critically acclaimed.

“I’ve tried a lot of weird shit now,” Edward admits with a sheepish smile. “I know what I like, and, generally, I like takin’ care of people. Some people just need a little bit more attention, is all.”

“How did Hughes find you?” Mustang asks, utterly _bewildered_ that Hughes, the ultimate family-man, had any connection to a community that seemed so centered around sex.

“Apparently he had a client that got into the scene a year or so ago.” Edward’s golden eyes are bright as he smiles, finding the notion as humorous and outlandish as Mustang himself does. “He got in contact with me through his friend, because he was sort of worried this guy was going to get himself in trouble or something. Hughes is an asshole, but he’s a good-natured asshole, y’know? I couldn’t just ignore him when he obviously _cared_ so much.”

This point, Mustang easily understands. He’d become friends with Hughes in much the same way. The man was insufferable, but he had a heart that bled for nearly any person who smiled at him.

“Anyways, he told me about you a couple weeks back. Said you were at a weird point in life, possibly curious. I know the type. Lonely lawyer, looking to let go of his power for a couple hours, see if the BDSM community’s really what it’s chalked up to be.” Edward shrugs lightly and Mustang stares at him with wide eyes. “I’m not exclusive or anything right now, so I figured, why not?”

 _Why not_ , indeed. While Mustang had been somewhat concerned and apprehensive earlier, now he can see why Hughes had led Mustang to Edward. Edward is an earnest young man, and snarky, besides. Hughes had probably thought the two of them well-matched.

That and, well, Edward is a looker. Mustang has made no secret of his bisexuality or his penchant for blondes. Mustang will have time to be frustrated with his best friend later, when he’s certain the other man isn’t going to be gloating about his hunch being correct.

Against his better judgement, Mustang inhales deeply and asks, “What, exactly, do scenes entail?”

Edward hums. “Everybody’s different. Generally, the dominant and the submissive discuss what kinds of sensations the submissive finds pleasurable. After the boundaries of pain tolerance and what kinds of tools and toys are allowed to be used in the scene have been set, then they’d set a safe word. Assuming that you’d be the submissive in the scenario, it would be something you’d use at any time that you felt like I was going too far, no matter where we’re at in the scene.” Edward scowls deeply as he explains that part. “It’s not meant to be used as a last resort, and I’d stop before we even started if you said it. It’s supposed to be used to facilitate trust between partners.”

Mustang winces at his tone. “I’m guessing you’ve known doms that haven’t subscribed to that philosophy?”

“I was a submissive for a real shithead for a while,” Edward replies. “Got out of it before things got real ugly, but hey. Live and learn.”

“Right,” Mustang blandly replies, a bit of the color draining from his face.

“Anyways, the point is, I’d want you to trust me to take care of you. We’d start slow, maybe with a blindfold or a soft gag, something you could get out of or take off, if you didn’t like it. Maybe a bit of spanking. I wouldn’t do anything penetrative until we’d had a few sessions together.”

The idea of losing one of his senses makes goosebumps pop up on Mustang’s skin, but he’s not sure whether he’s shivering in anxiety or anticipation. He swallows to wet his throat. “That’s rather patient of you.”

Edward simply shrugs and smiles. “It’s the right thing to do. If you decided you wanted to continue our sessions, the two of us would be exclusive, and we’d have to work out a bunch more negotiations at that time.”

Mustang sits in silence for a long time, just drinking the slough of information in. Finally, once Edward stands and makes for the door, he stands next to him and pulls out his phone. “Well. I did promise Hughes that I would give this a try.”

Edward fixes him with an unimpressed stare. “You don’t _have_ to do this. I know lots of people think BDSM is weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Mustang assures him sternly. “Everyone has things they like, right? What’s wrong with that?”

The blonde laughs heartily at that. “True enough.”

“Let’s exchange numbers, then. Would this time next week work for you?”

Edward says yes and the two of them send each other texts with their names in the messages to confirm that they’ve typed the numbers correctly.

He parts with the brunette by saying, “Looking forward to seeing you soon,” and then he disappears on the horizon, waving goodbye.

 

//

 

Mustang ignores Hughes’s texts like the man is the Bubonic Plague itself. He already knows what his friend is undoubtedly asking about, and he resolutely refuses to tell Hughes what had happened last weekend. The evening had been left somewhat open-ended, and he doesn’t want to read the other man’s speculations.

The week is blissfully quiet at the office, things settling back into routine in the wake of the case that had thrown everyone off so badly. Mustang gets his Prius back from the dealership in beautiful condition on Tuesday, and the technicians apologize all over themselves for the delay. Apparently, a couple of things in the car had been recalled, so they’d swapped the parts out free of charge, and it runs like a dream, purring softly under him as he drives to work at his usual time.

The only thing odd about the week is that in the evenings, when Mustang is finally free from his never-ending trail of annoying emails, he boots up his personal computer, so rarely used, and decides to research BDSM.

Doing so makes him feel a bit dirty, especially since he turns off all the lights and reads in total silence, like one of his neighbors might burst in any moment and gasp at the scandalous definitions and photos on his screen.

He discovers that Edward had been very thorough in his explanation of the general concepts. It _is_ somewhat startling to read about some of the more dangerous activities—blood-letting; consensual asphyxiation; _gun-play_ , for god’s sake—but Mustang has a strong feeling that Edward has no interest in taking a scene so far.

Still, as he reads about the community and watches videos, learning more and more each evening, he desperately wonders what had led Edward to this community, and had even made him a notable presence online. In several forums and on chat sites where Mustang had momentarily lurked, it seemed that a ‘long-haired, blonde dom with a filthy mouth and wicked smile’ had opened their eyes and shown them pleasures they’d never known before.

It’s easy to imagine the imagery suiting Edward. He’d been blasé and unafraid to speak his mind with a total stranger. Mustang knows he has a sharp tongue, and that’s part of what had made the brunette agree to see him again. Still, Mustang’s not sure what to expect from the younger man in just a few days’ time, and, although he usually hates being the one without all the answers, this time, he thinks he’s a little excited by the prospect.

In the end, all that realization boils down to is that Hughes had been right, which makes Mustang all the more eager to set Hughes’s contact information at _Do Not Disturb_.

 

//

 

Edward arrives right on time on Saturday night, and he looks a bit more casually dressed. He’s wearing dark jeans that have intentional worn spots to them and an off-white button down with three-quarter sleeves. “Hey,” he greets easily, waving to Mustang as he steps in the condo. “Good to see you again.”

“Good evening,” Mustang greets back warmly, surprising himself at how pleased he is to see Edward again. “Glass of water?”

“Sure,” the blonde answers easily, flopping on the couch like he owns the place.

Once Mustang makes it back to the living room, Edward pulls a notebook and a pen out of his pocket. Mustang takes a sip of his water before asking, “So, where do we start?”

“Hard limits,” Edward replies quickly, tapping his notebook. “Yours and mine.”

“No bruising in highly visible areas,” Mustang says, and Edward jots it down with his left hand. “I’m mostly concerned with my neck in that department, but I do hope you weren’t thinking of ruining my face.”

Edward snickers. “No. Can I touch your face?”

“That’s fine,” Mustang chirps back, feeling suddenly more relaxed. “I’d like that, actually.”

“Cool.” Edward hums. “What about topics of conversation? We probably won’t talk much this session, but I still need to know.”

“I can’t talk about my work in depth,” Mustang tells him with a sigh. “What I do, sure, but with client confidentiality, and the fact that I’m an intellectual property attorney, things get even trickier than usual.”

“That’s fine,” the younger man assures him quickly. “I wouldn’t want you to get into it, really. Most people get taken out of a scene when they remember that kinda stuff, but I like to make notes for myself, just in case.”

“Good to know.”

“For me, the main two things you need to know are that my father isn’t around, and I’d prefer for you not to ask about it, ever.” Mustang gulps hard at that. There’s a story behind that, and it sounds fairly grim. “Also, it’s not that you can’t talk about it, but my mom’s dead, and when people joke about it, I get weirded out.”

“God,” Mustang breathes incredulously. “Who _wouldn’t_?” He shakes his head to clear it and frowns. “Thank you for telling me, though I’m sure it’s difficult. I wouldn’t particularly want to talk about my family in the bedroom either. Have you had problems with people mentioning those things before, when you’d expressly asked them not to?”

Edward scowls deeply. “More than a few times. Figured I’d mention that right from the start, in case that rule turned you off or something.”

Mustang is promptly horrified by the notion. “No, no. I’m happy to oblige. It’s only right that I respect your boundaries.”

“Thanks,” Edward earnestly replies, smiling softly. “I really appreciate that.” After a pause, he finishes scrawling notes down and asks, “Anything else?”

“Hmm,” Mustang thinks for a beat, then shrugs. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“Alright.” Edward snaps his notebook closed and grins toothily. “Well, the hardest part is over. If you’ve thought up a safe word, lemme know. We can set up a warning phrase too, before it gets bad enough for you to completely stop. Generally, people go with _yellow_ for a warning and _stop_ for a safe word, if they can’t think of anything.”

“Yellow’s fine for the warning,” Mustang easily replies, then waits for a moment to ponder. “Christmas would probably be a better safe word for me—I’m not sure that I wouldn’t say _don’t stop_ by mistake, and I’d hate to set things off track by accident.”

“Got it.” Edward nods. “Let’s chat for a bit. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know that I’m going to the bathroom. Wait in your bedroom for ten minutes, and I’ll be there. Once I ask you to begin, we’ll start the scene. That sound good?”

“Yes,” Mustang answers, “Absolutely.”

Then, for a few minutes, they chatter, and Edward excuses himself once they’ve settled back into casual conversation.

Mustang miraculously does not trip as he heads to his room, feeling heady with interest and nerves.

 

//

 

Edward knocks before he enters and he smiles sheepishly at Mustang as he steps into the room. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he tells the older man softly and Mustang nods at the sound of his voice. “You still on to do this?”

“Yes,” Mustang agrees. “I am.”

“Alright,” Edward says. “Then let’s start.”

The blonde’s first course of action is to have Mustang take off most of his clothes. Mustang does so slowly, fingers twitching a bit underneath Edward’s unwavering gaze, burning hot as golden eyes study him.

As he unclasps his belt and lets his dark trousers land on the floor, he studies Edward and nearly misses his next instruction. “I want you to kneel on the bed and close your eyes.”

 _Fuck_. Edward’s voice is sultry, and Mustang’s mostly undressed. It’s hard not to feel aroused in such a situation. Still, he follows the instruction with a little nod, breath coming shorter as he settles, somewhat unnerved at being unable to see Edward’s movements.

His steps are light, that much Mustang can tell. He slides within arms-length of Roy and teasingly traces the planes of the brunette’s body. The rough palm of his left hand glances over Mustang’s hair, making him shiver as Edward moves his fingers further down his back, slowly down all the knobs of his spine.

Mustang bites back the desire to curse at Edward. Time passes unbearably slowly while his eyes are closed, and the blonde seems intent on doing nothing but _touching_ him. It sets Mustang’s blood on fire, especially since his dick is stirring at the unsatisfactory motions, and his mind is racing, wondering when Edward will do something else.

Finally, when it seems as though Edward has had enough of teasing him, he pulls back and, if Mustang hears him correctly, he sits on the floor.

“Count to sixty,” Edward says. “Aloud. Once you finish, I’ll reward you. Don’t open your eyes.”

His voice is rough and Mustang swallows dryly at that. He counts with a little rasp, hoping that his timing is correct, and Edward sounds like he’s back on his feet by the time the brunette reaches forty-five.

At the count of sixty sharp, the flat of Edward’s palm slaps on Mustang’s rear, and he bites his lip at the sensation. It hadn’t been particularly rough—Edward had pulled the blow quite a bit—but after having been touched so softly and then made to sit up on his hands and knees and just _count_ for sixty seconds, the sensation is jarring.

“Count,” Edward says again, “To sixty. Don’t open your eyes.”

Mustang barely holds back a pathetic moan.

Each sting leaves him pulsing, each smack lingering deeper in his bones than the last. By the time Mustang reaches thirty in his count, it feels as though his tongue is lolling in his mouth. He’s a half-second from murmuring that he’s lost in the feeling, moaning for Edward to do more, count be damned, when a _very_ hard smack lands on the full curve of Mustang’s ass.

“You’re starting to mumble, so I can’t hear you,” Edward softly reprimands him. “What number are you on, Mustang?”

 _Goddamn it._ Mustang’s brain is jostling in his head, and his cheeks flush hot, feeling himself get hard in his briefs. “Thirty…one.”

Another rough smack makes Mustang brace himself on his arms, gasping and panting, both in pain and pleasure. “Louder.”

“Thirty-two,” Mustang grunts back as clearly as he can manage, almost shouting by the time he gets to fifty.

When Mustang has completed his count, Edward tells him that he can relax, that he’s allowed to rest and catch his breath.

He’s sore and boneless, hard and flushed.

Mustang stares at the ceiling with bleary eyes and finds that all his brain can latch around is how he’d done it, and his blood pumps loudly in his ears in pleasure.

Edward proudly smiles down at him. “Hey. We’re done for tonight. You did a really good job. I wound up going pretty tough for a first time, but you seemed pretty into it. How was it?”

“It was,” Mustang breathes airily, “ _Amazing_.”

At that, the blonde chuckles. “I’m glad. I’m going to get you cleaned up and give you a massage. I can leave for a few minutes while you take care of business, or you could just wait until you’re ready to move.”

Mustang’s cheeks suddenly heat at the implication there. “Oh, right. It’s okay. I’ll be, er, ready to move in a little bit. Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t apologize.” Edward smiles sheepishly. “I get it. Don’t sweat it.”

After several minutes pass, Edward stands up and asks to use Mustang’s bathroom. The brunette tells him he’s allowed to use whatever he pleases, and that permission will always apply whenever the blonde comes over.

At that caveat, Edward chuckles, idling in the doorway. “It’s nice,” he eventually explains with a lopsided grin, “That you’re thinking about doing this again.” Then, he skips off to fill the bath with warm water, and Mustang buries his face in the pillows.

Everything about this evening has been horribly embarrassing, but Mustang is pleased to say that it’s been more pleasurable than he could’ve ever dreamed.

 

//

 

Edward helps Mustang hobble over to the bathroom and peel off his underwear. He helps the older man sink in and lather his body. His hands are strong and confident as he washes Mustang’s hair, and Mustang nearly dozes off as Edward drains the tub and uses the handheld shower-head to rinse him off.

Wrapping the exhausted Mustang in a fluffy towel, he helps him back to his bedroom. Edward instructs Mustang to lie down on the sheets once he’s dry, and tells him he’ll be right back. He grabs a bottle of lotion from the bathroom, gently prompting Mustang to relax, squeezing the stuff on his hands to warm it and working on Mustang’s muscles from the shoulders down.

Mustang really _does_ fall asleep in the middle of all that, even though his backside tingles terribly and even stings a bit as Edward gently rubs lotion over his glutes.

He blinks awake to the sound of Edward’s voice. The question processes after a moment and he points to the closet—Edward had been asking where he kept his pajamas—and he sits up blearily.

Shrugging into them, he wobbles out of the bed and trails behind Edward slowly. “That was really nice,” Mustang tells him. “Thank you.”

“S’no big deal,” Edward assures him with a soft smile. “I had fun, too.”

“Same time next week?” Mustang asks hopefully.

He isn’t let down.

Edward warmly grins at that. “Sure. I’ll up the ante, if you think you’re up for it.”

“I trust you,” Mustang says, surprising both of them at the truth of the statement. “Whatever you think we’ll both like, I’d like to try.”

That makes Edward cackle like a madman. “You’re kinda warped, Mustang. I like that.” He waves goodbye at last. “See you next week.”

 

//

 

Work always picks up around the holidays, when many semi-corporate businesses start worrying about people suing them for some reason. There are a lot of cases that don’t stick, either because the related parties are making arguments ad hominem to be petty, or because said clients have no tangible claim to the intellectual property that they want to defend.

The paperwork is endless, but Mustang’s entire firm notices that their employer has been noticeably more diligent about getting it done, and several notches more relaxed at the start of every week.

Hawkeye handles most of the gate-keeping for Mustang, fielding through the weeds of absolutely useless information that crosses the desk. She makes his appointments on the calendar, but even she seems to be at a loss as to what has happened to improve her boss’s mood on the weekends.

Her best guess is that he’s found some new bar to frequent, and with no case taking over every open moment of his time, Mustang simply has more time to drink himself stupid and recuperate before Monday morning.

Mustang, for his part, decides that he’s avoided Hughes long enough, and, as much as he loves the man, he’d hate for Hughes to unexpectedly burst into his condo on a Saturday evening. Once he notes seven potential clients that could lead to major cases, he texts his friend, jets out of the office, and drives himself over to their usual hangout spot on Friday evening.

As if his body has learned to anticipate the relaxation of Saturdays, Mustang’s back is tangled in knots, and he’s sure that by the time he sits across the booth from Maes, he looks as though someone has run over his proverbial, non-existent puppy.

The two of them chatter about the usual topics for a while before Hughes loses his patience. “Okay, tell me what happened, or so help me, I’ll get some hacker to find every embarrassing text message you’ve ever sent.”

Edward doesn’t like to text much, so there’s nothing really incriminating in his messages. Even if Maes somehow carries out his threat, all he’ll be reading are four or five iterations of Edward explaining, _I’m outside,_ and _I’ll be a few minutes late_.

“Well, go ahead and say I told you so,” Mustang grumpily grouses. “You’re great and you were right about Edward helping me relax. All hail the almighty Maes Hughes.”

Mustang delights in the way that Hughes’s jaws drops. “No _way_. I thought you were avoiding me all this time because you offended him and he broke your nose or something.” Suddenly, he grins and Mustang feels deflated. “Roy, that’s great! Hell knows you deserve to have someone nice in your life.”

“It’s nothing _serious_ yet,” Mustang tells him with a soft smile, though he feels the beginnings of a headache pulse at his temple. “He hasn’t seen me when I’m on a case, but for now, things are good. I nearly pissed myself when he told me how he knew you.”

Hughes laughs long and hard at that. “Yeah. I mean, there are plenty of veterans who go seeking unlikely avenues when they come back and the country’s so quiet. How was I supposed to know my client was safe, when I knew nothing about the scene?” He shrugs nonchalantly and Mustang understands Hughes’s apprehension. “Edward was something of a rare find. He was patient with me as I asked questions, and he seems very passionate about his craft.”

Mustang’s face grows red at the wording. “Right.”

Hughes whistles at his expression. “That good, huh?”

“We’re never talking about it. _Ever_ ,” Mustang emphasizes strongly and Hughes rolls his eyes. “I do wonder why he’s so invested in the community, though. He mentioned once that he doesn’t do it for the money—I’m pretty sure he works in IT, or something like that. The sessions are great, of course, but I just get the sense that there’s something more to it.”

“Hmm,” Hughes hums around his glass. “Who knows? If you stick with him long enough, I’m sure it’ll come up. He’s not exactly secretive.” Mustang silently agrees with that. “Now _you_ , on the other hand…”

“ _Hughes_ ,” Mustang exasperatedly sighs.

“All I’m saying is, if things _do_ get serious between you and Ed, you show him what you’re really like, alright? Behind that gruff exterior is the big softy that I know is in there, and one day, you’ll have to let _someone_ in.”

Mustang takes a deep drink and lets his eyes roam.

What he doesn’t tell Hughes is that he thinks Edward already has quite a start on that, as their sessions together seem to pull a variety of emotions out of Mustang. That’s why they’re so jolting—it’s riveting, to just _feel_ so much, and so often, and that’s why Mustang keeps asking Edward to come back.

 

//

 

“Huh? My job?” Edward shrugs out of a red coat that has a fuzzy white collar with a little sneeze, putting a bag down by the door as he takes off his shoes. “I work as a freelance IT consultant. Why d’you ask?”

“Just curious,” Mustang explains casually, sipping his tea with a soft smile. “I was trying to remember the other day. What does that entail, exactly?”

“Buncha computer shit,” Edward smartly replies and Mustang rolls his eyes. “I dunno. I can do a lot of different things. Coding. Website design. Hardware repairs. I’ve built my own computer before, and I know how to dismantle and fix pretty much every major type of PC. Whether people need me to do some job for them or they just wanna figure out what kind of desktop to buy, I can do it.”

Mustang grants the blonde a wide-eyed stare of admiration. “That’s amazing. If you have a steady stream of clients, isn’t that pretty lucrative?”

Edward scoffs and waves his hands. “More money than I can _spend_ , for fuck’s sake. I’m fending assholes off of me with a stick. Buncha companies in Silicon Valley tried to recruit me and I told ‘em to fuck off. I like livin’ where I do, thanks.”

Already, Edward had been impressive, and now, Mustang is floored. “That’s…I don’t know what to say. That’s amazing, Edward.”

The blonde waves his hand like Mustang had told him to take out the trash. “Nah, I’m not so special. I mean, what about you, mister fancy pants lawyer? That’s fucking hard shit, and people are crazy. Don’t hear about a lot of decent attorneys, whether they’re the prosecution or the defense.”

“We’re not _all_ bad,” Mustang mumbles and Edward snickers. “Although, I admittedly got into the profession in order to change that very notion. I wanted to do something modern, help people protect what’s theirs in a time where technology is changing every minute. It can be incredibly rewarding. It can also be incredibly _frustrating_.”

Edward laughs at that. “I’m sure.”

A comfortable silence lulls between them before Edward clears his throat and finally draws attention to the bag he’d put down on his way in.

“So,” Edward starts quietly, keenly aware that Mustang is staring at him intently, knowing how their evenings typically go. “I figured it was kinda time we moved onto the next stage. I haven’t really been seeing anyone else since I started this thing with you, but, y’know, protocol and all. Would you like for us to be exclusive?”

Mustang’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, it’s pulsing so quickly. He nods for fear that his voice will crack when he speaks and Edward lets out a sigh of relief.

“Alright, cool. I was kinda hopin’ you’d say that.” With a crooked smile, he pulls a series of things from the bag. Most of them, Mustang is familiar with now: the ball gag, made with soft, faux-leather and silicone; the long riding crop that is well-worn and well-polished; a short, elastic belt with a metal clasp. The final item, Mustang recognizes the use for, and gasps.

It’s fairly small, unassuming. Malleable material—silicone or latex, probably—and it has a flared base. It’s black, like everything else Edward brings with him, and when Mustang looks up, seeing the flush high on Edward’s cheeks, he starts to feel warm himself.

“It’s not like we have to use it,” Edward quickly tells him. “We’d have to reassess terms before we did, and, like, if we’re really gonna take things further, you’re gonna have to get tested.” Mustang looks wounded and Edward fixes him with a look. “Not to use _this_. I just mean, y’know, if we wanted to have sex. It’s not that I don’t think you’re clean, it’s just good practice.”

Mustang finds himself understanding the reasoning easily. “Right.” He swallows before saying, “Well, let’s discuss the terms then, shall we?”

Sensing his eagerness, Edward brightens. “Cool. Let’s do that.”

It’s a fairly easy discussion. Most of the rules are the same as they had been the first time Edward and Mustang set boundaries as the dominant and the submissive of the partnership. The only addition is a rule that Edward sets: whenever the blonde asks for Roy to give a number for his pain at intrusion, one being the lowest amount and ten the highest, Mustang is _required_ to reply truthfully, or Edward will end the scene, no exceptions.

He’s brought a huge, fresh bottle of lube that has a pump and a box of gloves with him, too. There’s also some anal-friendly disinfectant, and, not for the first time, Mustang wonders where in the hell the blonde gets all of this stuff.

Mustang heads up to the bedroom once Edward calls the meeting to an end, buzzing with anticipation.

 

//

 

“Take off your clothes. All of them,” Edward instructs Mustang in a smooth voice, hands placed at his hips. Mustang wonders if Edward will ever remove _his_ clothes when they do this, but the point is moot. Edward could make him breathless with one snap of his fingers, and he’s certain that the blonde being entirely naked would do nothing to drown out Edward’s strong sense of pride and his deep care for Mustang’s pleasure.

Once he’s undressed, standing in front of Edward calmly, he waits for further notice to move. Edward finally says, “Lie down on the bed, face up. Make sure your hands are next to the bedframe.” Mustang trills at notion. Already, his imagination has run away with him, and he can hardly wait for what comes next. “Relax. Deep breaths.”

Mustang closes his eyes for a moment and draws in slow, shaky inhalations. When he opens his eyes back up, Edward is leaning over him and the sudden shift in _every_ motion this evening is making Mustang’s skin burn. His breaths are hot as he leans close to Mustang, pulling the belt fairly tight against Mustang’s wrists, tying the clasp in neat, crisp motions. Once Edward’s finished with that, he whispers, “Lift your head,” and Mustang complies, waiting until the gag’s strap rests at the back of his neck to put his head back down.

At an earlier session, Edward had made Mustang promise to shake his head vehemently if he wanted to stop doing anything while he had the gag on. Mustang hasn’t had a reason to make Edward stop before, and he doesn’t see why he’d have one now.

Once Edward steps back and takes in the sight of Mustang, he sighs happily. He really is a handsome one – dark, trusting eyes, lithe form, flexible, lightly muscular. His hair falls over his face in short waves, and curls around the base of his cock thickly, and really, Edward loves the sight of Mustang coming undone for him.

“Ready?” He asks quietly, but he knows Mustang is focused on him. The brunette nods once and Edward tests the crop in his hand a few times. “Twenty, Mustang.”

 _Twenty?_ Mustang thinks with a brief furrow of his brow. _That’s a pretty low number_.

Then, he recalls that Edward has more in mind tonight, and he feels his throat going dry with desire.

The _thwack_ of the crop across his thighs makes Mustang yelp through the gag. Edward’s certainly not hitting hard enough to break skin, but it feels damn close. The pauses between each slap get longer and longer, and Edward tries hard not hit the same stretch of skin twice. By the time he gets to fifteen, Mustang’s lips hurt and drool is running down his chin.

Edward grabs a hand towel from the night stand, gently removing the gag. He wipes Mustang’s sweaty face with a soft smile and the older man fondly stares back at him, hands resting above his head, arms burning with the stretch.

He’s already getting hard, to no one’s surprise, and Edward reaches in his bag to put on a pair of gloves. “Don’t forget the rules,” he reminds Mustang, and Mustang verbally acknowledges that he hears Edward.

Edward leans on the bed again, pulling Mustang’s legs over his shoulders. Mustang gulps at the sight, dick sitting flush against his own abdomen. Edward pumps a generous amount of lubricant over his glove-covered hands and rubs them together with an intent expression. He circles one finger at Mustang’s entrance before plunging it inside of the brunette slowly.

The sensation doesn’t hurt—not really, not in the way that being spanked or smacked with the crop hurts. It just feels foreign. Edward explores his ass for a moment before setting a second finger beside the first. “Pain?”

“Two,” Mustang murmurs quietly, eyes threatening to cross as his hips snap and his arms impulsively twist in their hold. Edward dips his fingers further, moving and scrabbling for purchase in him and Mustang’s toes curl.

Edward grabs the plug, which he’d cleaned before the session had even started, and covers it in lube, too. He holds Mustang’s hole open with three fingers before inserting the plug as deeply it will go, and it flares much more widely than Edward’s fingers had stretched him.

“Now?”

“Four,” Mustang grunts out. Edward gently puts his legs down while he goes to get the control for the device.

“Gonna turn it on now,” Edward explains quietly. “Low setting. Twenty lashes. Eyes closed. If your pain goes above an eight, tell me.”

“I will,” Mustang promises, panting heavily.

The feeling of the low vibration makes Mustang press his knees together, squirming and biting his lip at the feeling. The tip of the plug doesn’t quite scrape his prostate, but the sensation sets his nerves on edge.

Edward waits until he’s settled to start with the crop.

He sets a brutal pace alongside the toy, and Mustang counts steadily, forcing his eyes closed even as he starts to babble, sure that he’s going to come right in the middle of everything and forget which number he’s at.

Once he gets to twenty, Edward turns the plug off and puts his crop away. He uses fresh gloves to pull the toy out of Mustang, setting the plug on the nightstand before taking Mustang’s hands out of their brace.

Edward would usually end the session here, start cleaning Mustang up and starting the aftercare, but today, he slathers more lube on his gloved hands and firmly grasps Mustang’s dick in his hand. “Count to twenty,” Edward says lowly. “Look at me, Roy.”

It’s the first time, inside a scene or out of one, that Edward has called him by name, and Mustang is reminded of how dreadfully hard he is. How pathetic is that, to feel so close to coming just because his dominant partner had said his given name?

“Three,” Mustang miraculously chokes the word out among a sea of pleasured, foggy thoughts. “Four,” he continues softly, leaking pre-come and bucking his hips into the warm heat of Edward’s hands.

Even if it isn’t, Mustang feels like this is a test, and he forces himself to hold out until twenty before he ejaculates all over Edward’s hands, flushed hot and desperately gasping for breath as he does.

Edward is silent for a long, long time after that, and he finally breaks the silence with a noise of awe. “Honestly, Mustang,” Edward comments softly, “That was one of the best scenes of my _life_.”

All of Mustang’s scenes have taken place with Edward, and have all been increasingly fantastic, so he’s biased, but he’s inclined to agree.

 

//

 

Edward announces his return home and his brother looks up from a novel to smile at him. He always gets back late on Saturdays, but his tan skin glows with exertion. If Alphonse didn’t know any better, he’d think that his older brother was going on evening jogs and stopping for a shower before making his way back to their apartment.

As it stands, Edward is fairly tight-lipped about his hobbies. Alphonse has worked very hard to get Edward to tell him about his hookups and the BDSM community. He’s set on keeping up with Edward’s location in case of emergency. The worst experience Edward had endured had scared both of them, so Edward complies with that part of Alphonse’s inquiries easily.

Lately, though, Alphonse isn’t so sure that he needs to be worried about the same things.

Edward slinks into the kitchen, setting a pot of water to boil and grumbling to himself. “Welcome home,” Alphonse greets him lightly and his older brother grunts back. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Edward shoots back, closing the fridge after he has a jar of tomato sauce in his hand. “It was nice. Same guy as usual.”

Alphonse lifts one eyebrow. “This is the third or fourth month in a row that you’ve gone to see him, right? Is this serious?”

Deft hands pull his hair out of the tie and Edward snorts. “I’m not going to see anyone else right now, if that’s what you’re asking. Don’t get your undies in a twist, Al. He’s not going to come over for dinner or anything.”

The younger Elric flushes and huffs lightly. “I’m _not_ —I just thought it was nice, that you’ve been so happy.”

Edward rolls his eyes. “Thanks, l’il bro.” He dumps a veritable ton of pasta into the boiling water and takes a seat on one of the kitchen barstools. Alphonse sits beside him. “Enough about me. How’re you?”

“Same as always,” he comments dryly and Edward snickers. “I’m not sure why I thought being a teacher’s assistant would be a good idea.”

“Because Professor Curtis would’ve kicked your ass if you turned the job down,” Edward reminds him and Alphonse knowingly groans. “It’s not all bad, is it? The prof wouldn’t have fed you to wolves if she thought you would hate it.”

“No, it’s not,” Alphonse sighs airily. “I still get to work with her a lot. It’s difficult to really understand what running a business entails, so her input is invaluable.”

Professor Izumi Curtis had been something of a mentor to the boys from a young age, and, as a successful proprietor of a small chain of specialty stores, she has notable accreditation at the university. Taking Alphonse in as her TA is helpful for both of them—she has someone to help her students understand the class material who is much more patient than herself, and her door is open for Al at almost any time of day. As he wants to open up his own shop someday, it’s a fantastic setup.

“I really wonder about the students who don’t _try_ , y’know? I just don’t get it. When I was in undergrad, all I wanted was to take in as much as possible. Some classes sucked, sure, but I was, I dunno, _there_.” Alphonse closes his eyes and flops onto the counter face-first.

“Yeah, I gotcha,” Edward hums back, eyes flicking up to the clock on the microwave while the pot bubbles. “Not everybody’s meant for school, but I don’t think they really get that until they’re there.”

“Right.”

Once the pasta is finished boiling, Edward drains it, throws the sauce into a bowl, and nukes it for a few seconds, completing his spaghetti a few minutes later. He offers Alphonse a bowl, but the younger man explains that he’s eaten already.

He pulls in a long slurp before Al decides that his brother is being pretty gross, splashing sauce all over the counters, and he heads up to his room to go to bed.

 

//

 

Mustang decides to read more about sex and bodily functions, and decides to go on something of a dietary cleanse for the week.

Some days, it makes him feel ill, and the office is buzzing with rumors because he keeps jetting off to the restroom, but by the time Friday rolls around, Mustang _does_ feel lighter. He’s not sure he’s ready for an enema just yet, but he’s had so much water to drink on Saturday morning that he feels like a fish.

As the sun begins to dip on the horizon, the days gradually getting warmer again, Mustang’s thoughts roam and he nearly dozes off. He starts awake at eight o’clock and frowns down at his phone.

Edward is rarely more than a few minutes late, and he always sends Mustang a message if he thinks he’s going to run behind. At first, Mustang gets a bit annoyed, and then, as the clock clicks closer to eight thirty, he starts getting worried.

At nine, Mustang calls Edward, hoping that his instinct is wrong and that everything is fine—maybe the blonde had simply fallen asleep and forgotten their appointment this evening.

Edward picks up on the third ring and he sounds drop-dead exhausted. “Shit, Mustang. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Mustang assures him easily, stomach falling at his tone. “When you didn’t show up, I just got concerned. Is everything alright?”

“Fuck,” Edward breathes, and he sounds so unlike himself, so lost and powerless that Mustang’s chest hurts. “I mean, _I’m_ alright. I think everything’s going to be fine. I just thought, you know, Al’s always so careful—he’s a shit-ton smarter than me about almost everything—and this wasn’t his fault.”

Edward is babbling and Mustang inhales sharply, forcing himself to be the calm party here. “What happened?”

“Some _idiot_ hit Al when he was crossing the street,” Edward explains in a hiss. “It was a semi-truck. _Fucker_. Al’s lucky he didn’t get the full brunt of the impact, but he’s still got a few broken bones and the doctors aren’t sure whether his spine is fucked up or not, because he’s not awake yet.”

Mustang winces. “Damn. Where’s your family?”

The younger man pauses for a moment before answering. “I called our dad, because Al would’ve wanted me to. Don’t expect that jerk to be here though, and if he shows, I’m gonna kick his ass.” After another beat, he continues, “Sent Winry and Granny a message, and they’re on their way. They live a few hours away from here.”

The two of them have never really talked about their families in depth, but Mustang figures that the two people have a great significance in Edward’s life, if the blonde has called them to let them know his younger brother is in the hospital. “Which hospital are you at?”

Edward answers and Mustang jots down the information, scribbling the words down with a nod.  _Alphonse Elric, Room 405._

“I’ll come visit you in the morning,” Mustang tells Edward and before he can protest, he offers, “Can I bring you anything?”

“Nah,” Edward replies softly. “Thanks, though. Sorry I didn’t text or anything—the day got pretty hectic.”

“Edward, it’s okay,” Mustang calmly assures him. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“G’night,” Edward tells him, and his voice sounds lighter than it had during the previous part of the phone call.

 

//

 

The next morning sees Mustang at the hospital. He double-checks the information Edward had given him with the desk at the front lobby and heads to the elevators when they confirm the room number.

Once he makes it to the door, he hears a few low voices inside, including Edward’s, though the young man sounds rather frustrated. Mustang knocks gently and Edward opens the door, bags under his eyes as he takes in the older man.

“Hey,” Edward greets him quietly. “Come in.”

The room is fairly crowded. A young blonde woman sits in one chair next to an old, short woman. They have the same facial structure, and, based on Edward’s phone call from last night, these two must be ‘Winry’ and ‘Granny’, respectively.

The man next to Edward looks so strikingly like the young blonde that it makes Mustang stop in his tracks. He sports a thick, well-groomed beard, and he wears round spectacles, but there’s fairly little aside from his age that sets him apart from Edward.

Edward’s father. The one with whom Edward has a nasty relationship, but apparently will tolerate for his brother’s sake.

“This is Roy Mustang,” Edward explains steadily, his voice a bit raspy with lack of sleep. “We met through a friend and we’ve been hanging out a couple times a week.” The words ring with truth, and Mustang smiles. “Mustang, this is my sister, Winry Rockbell, and our grandma, Pinako.”

“Nice to meet you,” the women chime back in unison, and Mustang tells them the same thing.

With an exasperated sigh, Edward points to his father, who looks just as haggard and downtrodden as his oldest son. “This is Hohenheim.” His face is sporting a deeply red mark, and, Mustang knows from experience, the force of the blow is going to bruise.

Hohenheim steeply bows to Mustang and holds out his hand in greeting. “Pleasure,” he says, and Mustang refrains from replying out of loyalty to Edward.

“What’s the situation?” Mustang asks, leaning against a wall and studying Alphonse, who is washed out on the bed and breathing gently.

“Nurses say he should wake up any time now,” Edward explains, arms folded over his chest. “Eyes fluttered last night, like he was tryin’ to open ‘em up. Think he got what I was sayin’.”

Hohenheim looks at his youngest son and grimaces. “What’s broken?”

“Couple ribs, right leg, right wrist. Nose is kinda crooked, but I think it’s a fracture. He was lucky.”

A collective murmur of agreement circles the room.

They chatter for a time before Winry and Pinako get ready to leave, heading to the Elrics’ apartment for the time being, and the patient in the room flutters awake, eyes wide open as he reaches for Edward.

He clasps his brother’s hand tightly and his amber eyes roam over to his father before he smiles. “G’morning,” Alphonse mumbles softly, relishing in the way his older brother’s eyes grow glossy and his lips wobble in relief. “You guys are loud.”

Edward barks out a pathetic laugh at that and Mustang thinks it’s one of the most intriguing sounds he’s ever made. “If you’ve got that much spark, you’re gonna be just fine, Al. Hang on. Lemme call a nurse, okay?”

He carefully puts Alphonse’s hand down and slips out of the room.

 

//

 

Mustang steps out of the room a couple of minutes after Edward does, feeling like an intruder. He watches the blonde man eagerly tell the nurse the situation and asks her to check if Alphonse is well enough to sit up. His x-rays had revealed that none of the bones in his spine had cracked, so she seems to think that doing so will be fine, and Edward is happy to hear that news.

Just before he trails the woman back inside of the room, he catches Mustang’s gaze and beckons the older man, walking around a corner before stopping. He smiles earnestly up at him. “Thanks again for coming to visit. You didn’t have to.”

Mustang simply shrugs, reaching out to squeeze Edward’s shoulders. “It’s nice to see familiar faces when you’re in the hospital. I’m glad your brother woke up.”

“Me too,” Edward breathes softly, clutching a hand to his chest. “Me fucking too.” There is a long, strange pause between them before he asks, “What’s your family like, Mustang? If you wanna tell me, I mean. I guess that was kinda rude to ask after I told you never to ask about mine, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Mustang replies easily. “It’s only awkward in the bedroom. No one wants to think about their mother when they’re getting ready to have sex.”

Edward snickers at that. “Right.”

“Well, for starters, I’m an orphan,” Mustang smoothly explains, and Edward might be the first person he’s told that who hasn’t let their eyes go wide at the knowledge. “My mother adopted me when I was very young, so she’s the only family I’ve ever known. She runs a diner, though, so all the staff members are like my family, too. A lot of them have worked there since she opened the place. Her name’s Chris, and you’d love her.” It shocks Mustang to admit that to _anyone_ —he’s never told anyone he’s dated so much about his mother, or his home life, for that matter. “She’s got a foul mouth and a wicked sense of humor.”

“I like her already,” Edward agrees happily. After another stretch of silence, he sighs and throws his weight against the wall. “My childhood was pretty similar. Hohenheim fucked off to god knows where when I was five, and nobody knew if he was dead or alive until I turned seventeen. Mom raised us by herself and she died when I was ten.” Mustang carefully schools his expression, though he feels like gaping at the knowledge. “The Rockbells took us in and adopted us, but we kept our last name. It was one of the few things Mom gave us that we had left.”

“That was kind of them,” Mustang comments softly.

“Yeah,” Edward replies with a smile. “Granny and Winry are good to us.”

Although Mustang dreads the response, he asks, “What’s the story with your father?”

The younger man’s brow furrows deeply and he scowls. “Van Hohenheim is a fuckin’ mess. He left home in order to uncover some big archaeological find on the other side of the world, hoping that doing so would support his family. By the time he made it back home, his family had fallen apart. Al spent a lot of time trying to find him when we were teenagers, and he eventually succeeded. Since then, Al’s been trying to _reconnect_ with the old bastard, give him a second chance, or something, but fuck that guy. The only reason I told him _anything_ is because Al would’ve wanted him to know.” With a sour expression, he finishes, “I guess he _did_ show, so at least there’s that.”

“Oh,” Mustang comments blandly, unsure of what else there is to say.

Edward’s expression is equally off-balance. “Yeah, oh.”

They make their way back to Alphonse’s hospital room after another strange silence falls between them, and Mustang hopes that Edward will refrain from punching his father a second time.

Mustang leaves in the afternoon, about thirty minutes after Edward shoos the Rockbells and his father away, Alphonse starting to get rather sleepy with all of the attention.

He thanks all of them for coming with a fond little smile and makes a few phone calls for his brother, seeing as how it’ll be several weeks before Alphonse can move around by himself.

Edward falls asleep clasping his brother’s hand.

 

//

 

Mustang nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone buzzes on Monday afternoon.

 _Hey,_ the text message reads, _Sorry again about last weekend. It’ll be a few weeks before I’m ready for another scene, but maybe we could grab dinner or something, if you want. Al’s biting my head off because I nag him all the time and I almost never leave the house._

It occurs to him, dreadfully slowly, that Edward is asking him out on a proper date. It makes him smile for a moment before he remembers that he’s at work, where Havoc, Breda, Falman, Fuery, and Hawkeye are fixing him with curious stares.

When he dips away to the restroom, he texts back. _Yes, I’d like that. The usual time?_

Edward’s response is swift. _Sure. Meet you at your place, then we’ll go grab a bite. No point in taking two cars._

_Great. See you then._

The rest of the workday drags on terribly slowly. Mustang wonders if perhaps he should have a soak in the tub or go find a yoga class nearby to work the knots out of his shoulders. It’ll be a long few weeks without Edward helping him unwind, but Mustang is more than willing to wait.

 

//

 

On Friday night, Mustang ruthlessly pounds shots and Hughes is concerned for him. “Are things not going well with Edward?”

Mustang is loose-lipped, and he’s lucky that the bar is so loud, because it helps him drown out his thoughts a bit. “Everything’s great,” he slurs.

Hughes raises an incredulous eyebrow at his friend. “You’re _drunk_.”

“I’m nervous,” Mustang admits. “When was the last time I went on a date, Hughes? When I was twenty-seven?”

“Vanessa doesn’t count,” Hughes reminds him, taking a slow sip of his own drink. “You invited her over for pizza and the two of you just debated politics for an hour before you made out, and she left early that night for some reason. I say twenty-four.”

“Damn,” Mustang breathes shakily. “That’s a long time.”

Hughes silently agrees, but he decides to let Mustang ramble while he’s on a roll.

“I just thought—I dunno what I thought. Edward’s good for me, and I know that, and I know that he knows that. I never thought things would go this far. I never thought I’d be into, y’know, all of it.” He trails off for a moment, toying with the small array of shot glasses on the table. “I learned to appreciate letting go with him, but now, things are different. This is a real _date_ , Hughes. I went to visit him when his brother was in the hospital. We talked about our _families_.”

The taller man beams brightly. “That’s good, Roy. I’m happy for you.”

“Well, I’m lost,” Mustang grumbles, leaning back in the booth and closing his eyes.

“You seemed to like losing control with Edward before, when it was just about the scenes,” Hughes says. “Why can’t you think of it like that? It’s just one big scene, where Edward calls the shots, and he’s asked for you to take him to dinner.”

Mustang is a moment away from arguing that he _has_ to plan everything down to the most minute detail, because this _isn’t_ a scene, but a shocking realization dawns on him.

Hughes is right.

Once that thought finishes tumbling around his brain, Mustang relaxes significantly, and he starts to get excited about the date rather than concerned.

 

//

 

Edward arrives at seven-thirty sharp, and he’s very well dressed. With a white button down on, a black pinstriped waistcoat over it, and sleek, black slacks, Edward looks impressive.

His skin is olive-toned from the rare bouts of spring sunshine and his hair is as lovely as ever. Mustang is no less dressed, but he feels somewhat inadequate, mostly because Edward usually attempts to look casual when he comes over and the difference is shocking.

“Hey,” he greets warmly, smiling at Mustang as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Long time no see.”

Mustang rolls his eyes and steps outside, locking the door behind him. “Har, har. Let’s get going. Our reservations are for eight o’clock.”

“Fancy,” Edward comments lightly and Mustang chortles.

They pull up to a little Italian place with a beautiful interior. Once they get settled, ordering a couple glasses of wine and scanning over the menu, they start to chatter about the week.

Edward proudly brags about Alphonse’s physical progress, noting that his brother is rapidly regaining his strength. Mustang tells him about the new case he’s going to undertake soon and how it could take months to finish—he apologizes in advance if they have to reschedule meetings.

“It doesn’t _have_ to be Saturday or anything,” Edward tells him partway through the warnings. “I’m sure your firm is busy on weekdays, but I work from home. My schedule’s flexible. Once we get back into the swing of things, we could set a scene—or a date—any day you want.”

“So, this is a date,” Mustang says, much more suavely than he genuinely feels.

“Duh,” Edward comments, rolling his eyes. “What else would it be?”

Mustang laughs. “I’m not sure. I knew that our partnership was exclusive, but I wasn’t sure whether you were interested in having a relationship with me outside of our scenes.”

“Ah, right,” Edward hums. “Guess I should’ve made that clear. Well, I do. You’re interesting, I like you, and we’re already exclusive. Wanna date?”

“Hmm,” Mustang pretends to think about it, putting one hand to his chin. “I wonder if I should start by picking a venue for dinner.”

Edward reaches across the table and flicks Mustang in the forehead. “Smartass.”

They break from chattering to eat for a bit, and when Edward’s cheeks are a bit less full, Mustang flushes lightly and chuckles under his breath. It makes the blonde raise an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just,” Mustang starts, “Yesterday, I went out drinking with Hughes, and he told me to think of this as a scene. It helped me calm down a lot, getting into that headspace.” He smiles fondly and Edward colors at the words. “It’s funny, that I feel more relaxed to think about willfully giving up my control than I do about going on a date.”

Edward’s face is still red when he shovels another piece of shrimp into his mouth. “You kinky fuck. What’d you think I was gonna do, tell you to stick your face right into the bowl of pasta and call me sir when you were done?” Mustang chokes at the thought. “Oh my god.”

“That _would_ be somewhat humiliating,” Mustang replies.

Edward cracks a toothy smile. “I’m not really an exhibitionist, but we should try that at home some time.”

Mustang feels warm under the collar and he stifles his embarrassment with a mouthful of wine.

 

//

 

One day at an office lunch, Havoc brags about finally landing a new girlfriend, and he warns Mustang to stay the hell away from her. The older man rolls his eyes—he’d never _stolen_ any of Havoc’s previous girlfriends. They had come onto him, in vain, and Havoc had whined and cried about how attractive his boss was.

Havoc’s problems are that he forgets himself, focuses too heavily on looks, and he doesn’t have much taste in women’s personalities.

“Don’t worry,” Mustang assures him with a casual wave of his hand, digging into his salad. “I’m seeing someone.”

The news startles everyone.

Hawkeye is the first one to break out of her shock to smile at him. “Congratulations, sir. Will we meet the lucky lady at the summer office party?”

Mustang shifts in his chair a bit, eyes roaming the room. It’s a bit awkward to bring this up in front of his coworkers, but he _does_ trust them. Besides, his relationship isn’t something he’s ashamed of. “I’m not sure. I have to ask him. Edward’s not really the kind of person who enjoys formal occasions.”

“That’s pretty sweet of you, Chief,” Havoc comments lightly, a twinkle in his eyes. “Guess I don’t have to worry about you nabbin’ my gal if you’ve got yourself a boyfriend.”

“There was no need for concern in the first place,” Mustang grumbles.

Breda chimes in with a roguish smile. “How’d you meet ‘im?”

It is decidedly uncouth to tell the five people he has to see every day: “Oh, you know, a friend introduced him to me because Edward is a fantastic dom and he wanted me to unwind. You know how it goes—falling in love with a man that nearly makes you beg to come every time he slaps a riding crop across your ass.”

“Hughes met him through one of his therapy clients,” Mustang cleans up the story for a public setting. “Remember when we closed that big case last year? We started talking back then, but we only began dating a few weeks ago.”

Falman knowingly nods. As a family man like Hughes, he must’ve been eager to see Mustang paired off and enjoying his relationship, much like his friend.

Before he finishes his lunch, his phone buzzes in his pocket and Mustang excuses himself from the table to go read it and grin at the message like a fool.

 _Hope you haven’t shit your pants in boredom yet,_ Edward has typed and Mustang quietly snickers. _Al’s doing loads better and I think a couple of his friends are coming over to hang with him tomorrow. How do you feel about having a scene?_

It’s Friday and Mustang feels as though he might vibrate out of his skin at the thought alone. His answer is obvious. _I’d love to have one,_ he replies, _but only if you’re in the mood as well._

 _Wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,_ Edward says, and Mustang can practically hear the sarcasm dripping in his words. _Usual time?_

 _Absolutely._  
  
_See you then_ , Edward types, and Mustang closes his phone with a forlorn sigh.

From a distance, his coworkers all grin. Breda says, “He’s a goner,” and everyone else easily agrees.

 

//

 

“I know, I know, you’re tired of hearing it,” Edward gripes. “But every time I bring something new, or do something new, I just gotta check. Make sure you’re still on board. Just because you haven’t had to use a safe word with me yet doesn’t mean you won’t in the future.” At that, he narrows his eyes at Mustang. “You aren’t holding yourself back from using it, are you?”

“No, Edward,” Mustang impatiently huffs, watching the blonde scribble things away in his notebook. “You’ve never pushed me further than I can go. You’re very cautious, and I can handle it.”

Edward backs down at that, relaxing his shoulders. “Good, then.” He inhales deeply and looks up from the paper. “One last thing before we start?”

“Hmm?” Mustang stares at the blonde with curiosity.

“I, uh. I haven’t told you the reason I never take off my clothes,” Edward admits quietly and Mustang’s dark eyes grow wide. “I figure, y’know, we’re dating now, so it shouldn’t be a secret.”

Mustang nods, unsure of what else he should do or say.

“Remember a long time ago, I told you about my shitty dom?” The brunette grunts in the affirmative. “Well, part of his problem was that he wanted me to have unprotected sex with him and his flunkies, and a lot of it. One time, the bastard tried to stuff me into a car and take me away. Bit the hell out of his arm to escape and I jumped out. We were easily goin’ seventy, and I curled up tight, but one of my legs got caught in a broken street sign and it was fucked right to hell.” He pats his left leg with a grimace. “S’mostly gone, and I wear a really nice prosthetic so people won’t notice.”

The revelation is so startling that Mustang balks. “I’m—fuck, that’s horrible. How’d you even wind up with him?”

“I was pretty new to the community at the time,” Edward explains, looking appropriately furious about the matter. “Nineteen, maybe? I’d only been arranging hookups and trying to figure stuff out for a few months. Most times, I was a sub because people thought I was pretty or somethin’.”

At that, the brunette snorts, though his mind is still racing. “While it’s true that you’re very attractive, those people obviously didn’t know you very well.”

“Right?” Edward muses, a wry grin slipping onto his face. “Anyways, I’m kind of a stubborn idiot. I waited until I’d healed up from the accident, learned from the error of my ways, and I threw myself more readily into the community. Worked hard to see that rat bastard in jail. Worked harder to make sure new people looking into BDSM learned a lot about consent and personal protection, so nobody got fucked over, like me.”

So much becomes clear in that moment—why Edward had always been so patient with people asking him questions about dominance and submission, and so insistent upon checking rules and cues with Mustang.

“Besides,” Edward finishes with a bright smile. “Being a _responsible_ dom is fun. I like helpin’ people slip away from being in control for a while. Once I got over my paranoia and made sure Al always knew where I was headed, the scenes helped me get over the accident. Most people don’t stick around long enough to see my leg, though, so consider yourself special.”

Mustang is floored and honored. “Thank you,” he finally breathes, and at the words, Edward gives him a soft look.

“Right, then,” Edward muses with a hum. “Ten minutes?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Mustang replies earnestly, kissing Edward on the brow before he heads upstairs.

 

//

 

“I’m going to edge you for an hour,” Edward calmly explains and Mustang nods. “Take off all of your clothes, then kneel on the mattress.”

This part of the routine is nearly always the same, so Mustang stands in his usual place and sets to take off his top button, but Edward uses a telescoping metal pointer to knock Mustang’s hands off of his shirt. “Go more slowly,” the blonde instructs him. “Turn around, start with your bottoms.”

Mustang listens to him quietly, hands shaking as he slows his pace, making more of an effort to focus on the motions. His belt comes off first, unclasping the latch with a soft clink. With his back turned to Edward, he has nothing to focus on but the sound of his own breathing and the rustle of everything he’s doing thrumming loudly in his ears.

Once he’s stepped out of his pants and Edward has given no further reprimands, he starts to pull down his underwear, and the pointer stings against his left thigh. “Shirt next.”

The older man complies easily. He feels the time ticking by agonizingly slowly, feels Edward staring at him intensely, and it gives him goosebumps.

After all of the buttons are unclasped, Mustang slowly uses his fingers to lower the cloth, letting it rest at the small of his back for a moment. Edward uses his pointer to trace the line of Mustang’s spine and the brunette shivers at the sensation.

With the button-down past his elbows and resting on the floor, Mustang stares at the bed and licks his lips. Whether he hears that or he’s just intuitive, Edward slaps the pointer over Mustang’s left hip and the older man bites his lip to keep from wincing.

Before Edward can remind him, Mustang starts to peel off his dark briefs, stepping out of his remaining clothing and feeling deliciously exposed.

Without warning, Edward steps out of the room. Mustang gets on the mattress slowly, anticipatory excitement making his pulse race.

The blonde seems to be in no hurry whatsoever as he steps back into the room. Mustang can only hear him looking around for something.

A time later, he whines for attention and Edward sets a blistering smack across Mustang’s back. His spine bows at the impact and Mustang lets out a loud hiss. “Relax. It’s only been twelve minutes. I said an hour, Mustang. Don’t make me punish you.”

His tone is soft, and Mustang draws in a deep breath. Right. Right, that’s what this is all about. Mustang’s meant to leave the control in Edward’s hands. It’s a matter of trust, and Mustang trusts no one more than he trusts Edward with this.

“Pain?”

“Two,” Mustang murmurs back, appropriately humbled. The sting has faded before he answers.

The snick of a match being lit fills the room, and the smell of burning wood briefly drifts through Mustang’s nostrils.

“Focus,” Edward tells him and Mustang shakes his head to clear it, adjusting his position so that his back is straighter.

It takes a few minutes for the candle wax to drip on his back. The first few drops feel downright pleasant, cooling the moment they land on his pale skin. Pink spots bloom over Mustang’s skin as Edward brings the candle closer to his back, the heat of the wax burning just a bit more.

He continues until the long candle has burned to half its’ length. Mustang’s kept track of time by the amount of drips that have fallen, and his backside feels heavier with the pools of wax concentrated over his lower back and across his shoulder blades.

“Bit more than halfway there,” Edward says, peeling wax off of Roy and collecting it somewhere out of the brunette’s line of vision. “Twenty-three minutes left. You’re doing so well.”

Edward rubs a medicinal salve over Mustang’s raw skin for a few minutes before he finally permits Mustang to stop kneeling. His knees are sore as he lies on his side.

“Lie on your back,” Edward instructs the brunette after a few minutes, and Mustang easily complies, studying the blonde now that he’s finally allowed to see him. Edward smiles as he studies Mustang in response.

Within a matter of moments, Edward has pulled off most of his clothing, cock straining lightly in his briefs as his golden eyes rest on Mustang. His prosthetic leg is very visible, and Mustang gulps.

He imagines that Edward must feel very vulnerable, but all the same, that makes Mustang trust him as a dom all the more. Edward is brave, powerful, and confident enough to stand here in front of him and set the pace of their actions, and Mustang lies on the bed, breathing shallowly.

Edward had set aside the test results earlier in the evening—both of them are clean, and he feels as though he’s been desperate to taste Mustang for months, and now, he finally can.

“No touching me,” Edward tells Mustang. “No touching yourself. Eighteen minutes left.”

Mustang could scream. _Damn you,_ he thinks strongly, unsure whether he’ll be able to earn his reward if Edward plans on putting his mouth anywhere near his lower half and keeping Mustang from coming for _eighteen minutes_.

Edward’s ministrations are slow and deliberate. He puts lube over his fingers and lazily sticks them into Mustang one at a time, shifting Mustang’s pale legs in order to get more leverage.

He fingers Mustang open for more than seven minutes, never pressing in far enough to reach Mustang’s prostate—just testing the burn of the stretch and occasionally checking Mustang’s level of pain.

Finally, once Edward seems tired of this action, he pulls slick fingers out of Mustang and steps away from the bed once more, grabbing several wet wipes and a soft hand towel. He clears most of the lubricant from Mustang’s hole and draws in a deep breath, flashing a smirk at Mustang before he dips down and bows his spine.

His tongue swirls inside of Mustang’s ass and the man clutches the sheets with rollicking gasps. It’s a terrible punishment that he can’t touch Edward, what with the blonde flicking his tongue out so beautifully and nearly driving Mustang to howl.

Mustang is desperate to come and Edward can sense it, so he pulls back and languidly licks the inside of Mustang’s thighs instead. Mustang has never wanted to have his control back so badly.

Edward leans into Mustang’s neck and murmurs, “Five minutes left, Roy. Beg me for your reward.”

The sound Mustang makes is caught between a pitiful laugh and a pained sob. “Shit,” he whispers in awe, and Edward twists one of his nipples.

“Hurry up,” Edward says, voice rough and sultry. He palms Mustang’s balls lightly and the older man groans before he starts to babble.

“Want you to do something so badly,” Mustang finally says, so unused to talking in a scene that the sound of his own voice surprises him. “You can use your tongue, your hands— _anything_. Please.”

“Please _what_?” Edward asks, hand deftly weighing Mustang’s cock in his palm.

“Please let me come,” Mustang piteously admits, voice low and feeble. “ _Please_.”

Edward fiendishly licks his lips. “Tell me how bad you want this, Roy.”

Mustang is so weak to the sound of his own name in Edward’s mouth. “I’d do anything you wanted me to. I’ll keep begging like this. I’d get on my knees and have you step all over me, pick me up by my hair, and ask you to do it all over again. Edward, _please_.”

A soft noise trills and Edward smiles at Mustang.

“Good job,” Edward tells him with a heart full of pride. “Lie still. I have to reward you.”

“Mm,” Mustang complies easily. Edward moves to put more lube over his fingers before putting them back inside of the brunette, scrabbling to find his prostate. With his other hand, the blonde gets Mustang off so quickly that it’s a wonder Mustang had made it the whole hour at all.

After Mustang has come, Edward pulls the older man’s neck back by grabbing a fistful of his dark, dark hair. He kisses Mustang’s arms and ruts against him, one metal leg and one flesh braced against Mustang’s side.

Both of them are sweaty and panting. Mustang finds himself babbling _please_ and _Edward_ in a rhythm as the blonde comes, and the two of them lie in bed to catch their breaths when the scene finally comes to a close.

 

//

 

When they aren’t in the midst of a scene, Edward seems particularly partial to long, languid kisses. Mustang is always happy to oblige him, of course.

“You never kiss me when we’re in the bedroom,” Mustang wonders aloud one afternoon. “Why not?”

“I get caught up,” Edward explains with a sheepish smile. “I always have a plan and a timeframe, but I get distracted if I start kissing.”

Something else occurs to Mustang and he quirks an eyebrow. “Do you also get distracted by having anal sex?”

“Not as much,” Edward admits. “If you’re wondering why I haven’t had sex with you yet, it’s not that I don’t want to. I was sort of hoping to use that as a reward after a really rough session, y’know?”

Mustang swallows dryly at the notion. “Right, then. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Besides,” the blonde wryly comments, “Don’t we fool around enough, even if we’re not in a scene?”

Since they’d officially become a couple, Edward and Mustang had come dangerously close to getting each other off in every single room of Mustang’s condo, partaking in satisfactory bouts of intercrural, exchanging blow jobs and kisses and grinding on each other almost every time they get together.

Even lounging around on the couch sets Mustang at ease, seeing the younger man smile at him and doze off in the middle of movies, even offering to stay over some nights.

“I just like having you around, and I enjoy seeing what you’ll let me get away with,” Mustang finally says, and Edward blinks at him owlishly. “What? It’s true. I get carried away.”

Edward snickers. “Cocky bastard. Don’t worry, we’ll get around to it, and we’ll have some of the best sex of your life.”

Mustang has no doubt in his mind that Edward is right about that.

 

//

 

“I can’t believe this,” Alphonse mutters in frustration, lifting his arm to block the sun in his eyes. “I’ve only met your boyfriend one time, and that barely counts because I was in the _hospital_. Now, we’re going to have dinner with his family?” The younger Elric grouses. “I don’t have a gift. We should’ve at least stopped to get flowers. Why didn’t you tell me where we were going before we left?”

“Because I knew you’d start bitching,” Edward explains, rolling his eyes. “It’s not a big deal, Al. Mustang and I decided to have a casual get together with his Mom a couple weeks ago, and we didn’t want to have any fuss.”

“You invited Winry and Granny, even though they couldn’t make it,” Alphonse comments sourly. “You might as well just go ahead and announce the wedding, too, except—oh wait! I don’t have anything to offer the lovely new couple because my brother sucks.”

Edward slaps the back of his brother’s head. “Aww, _shaddup_. Let’s just go in. Would you fuckin’ relax? I haven’t met his mom either.”

“You are going to be the worst son-in-law _ever_ ,” Alphonse remarks and Edward smacks him again. He winces at the pain.

They ring the doorbell and are beckoned inside by a heavyset woman. She has a chain-smoker’s gravelly voice and easygoing eyes. Even though Edward knows that Roy is an orphan, he and his foster mother resemble each other somehow.

“Name’s Chris Mustang.” The woman greets them with a smile. “Which one of you’s Edward?”

“Me,” Edward replies with a wave. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard that the two of us are going to ruin Roy’s life.”

She shakes Edward’s hand with a glint in her eyes and Alphonse buries his face in his hands, embarrassed by his brother’s careless attitude. “So he says. I like your spunk, kiddo. C’mon in."

Once they get to the kitchen, Chris barks instructions to her son and Roy grumbles back. Edward absently notes that Chris, much like Roy, is a control-freak. Her home is in perfect order, not a speck of dust on a thing, and her instructions for Roy are prompt and concise.

Roy’s so much like this stern woman that Edward winds up cackling to himself.

They take their seats at dinner, Roy beside Edward and Alphonse beside Chris. All of them introduce each other and marvel at the delicious spread before the conversation slips to embarrassing childhood stories.

Edward perks up and Roy visibly deflates while Chris chatters. Even Alphonse listens in with an attentive expression.

“D’you know, he was so convinced he could find a city at the bottom of that pond,” Chris nods knowingly, pointing her fork at her boy. “Trudged around the whole neighborhood naked as the day he was born tellin’ everybody about it.”

“Damn,” Edward exhales with a whistle, brushing mirthful tears out of his eyes. “What about the awkward teen years?”

“Wanna see? I’ve got photo albums.”

Roy desperately wishes he could melt into the floor and Edward follows Chris out of the room with open delight.

He rifles through the cabinets of his childhood home to find a bottle of brandy he’d purchased on his last trip to visit and offers Alphonse a glass as well.

Although Mustang is somewhat concerned about his mother and his boyfriend exchanging stories about him in another room, this is a fine opportunity to talk to Edward’s brother alone and get to know him a bit better.

“Sorry that Edward dragged you out here with little to no warning,” Mustang offers a gentle apology and Alphonse shakes his head with a knowing smile.

“It’s alright. I’m used to my brother. Honestly, I’m surprised that he told me to leave the day free at all. Usually, he’d tell me to cancel any potential plans, and to just shut up and trust him.”

Mustang grimaces at how easily he can picture such an exchange. “Right. This is something of an improvement, then.”

“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment, lips quirking upwards as his amber eyes flick over Mustang. “It’s just nice to see him happy and safe. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him smile so much.”

Mustang’s heart swells at the comment. “I’m happy to help. I’m incredibly fond of Edward, you know. I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

Alphonse giggles at that. “I wasn’t going to warn you against hurting him. No matter what’s happened to my brother in the past, he’s no pushover. If you hurt him, he’d totally wreck you. Then, of course, I would come to make sure you disappeared, but I know there’s no need for concern.”

Immediately, Mustang makes a mental note that he’s terrified of Alphonse Elric. “Glad that I’ve earned your trust,” he blandly replies.

“Brother trusts you,” Alphonse says, “Which means I trust you. I can see how much you care about him when you look his way. It’s kind of funny. When my brother told me that you were a lawyer, I imagined you were a lot more standoffish, but you’re an open book, huh?”

Mustang chafes at the comment. He’s made a career out of putting on a façade and talking circles around people, but the Elric brothers have a natural aptitude for seeing straight through him. “People don’t often tell me that,” Mustang admits. “I suppose my openness is largely thanks to Edward, though.” A soft smile rests on his face. “He’s just _ruthlessly_ honest. I find myself letting my walls down around him.”

“Ruthlessly honest,” Alphonse repeats with a chuckle. “More like a massive pain in the rear who couldn’t lie if you paid him to. Still, that’s part of his charm, I suppose.”

Mustang laughs at that and takes a steep drink of his brandy, unsurprised to find Alphonse pleasant company.

 

//

 

Chris Mustang delights in telling Edward tales until she trails off, and Edward gets a bit tense at her silence, sure that her motherly well-wishes and warnings are coming.

Instead, she smiles fondly and motions for Edward to put down the album and follow her out to the back porch. Once there, she reaches in the pocket of her jeans for a lighter and a cigarette, leaning on the banister and drawing in a deep lungful of nicotine.

“How’s my little Roy-boy doing these days?” Chris asks lightly. “He’s really a sneaky little shit. Almost never calls or texts unless he needs anything, and he’s gettin’ too old for me to keep tabs on him.”

Edward smiles, leaning his arms on the wooden ledge. “He’s good. Ambitious attorney, sharp-witted and well-suited for court. S’like he was born for the job, really.”

“He always did preen when he received lots of attention.” Edward snickers at that. “I’m glad he’s not lonely.” Her dark eyes slide over to Edward and the blonde smiles sadly.

“Yeah,” Edward agrees solemnly. “I think his job wears him down sometimes, because he wants to see big progress and results, but that’s just not realistic. Everything takes time, and he logically knows that, but _emotionally?_ Who knows. All I can say is, I like to think that I help him take his mind off of things from time to time, and I tolerate most of his horrible jokes.”

Chris cackles. “His jokes _are_ horrid. When he’s being sardonic and serious, he’s hilarious, but he tries to crack a joke and people try to flee the room.”

“I try to run too, but I practically live with him now,” Edward comments with a roll of his eyes. “There is no escape.”

“Godspeed to you,” Chris replies and Edward sighs dramatically. “You’re a good kid, Elric. When he first told me about you, I thought he was gonna shit his pants, he was so nervous. I’m gettin’ past the time of life where stuff like big age differences matter. Nowadays, it’s easier to keep track of people I know that’re either alive or dead.” She pulls Edward into a brief, bracing hug and Edward feels amazingly kindred to the woman in that moment. “If my boy’s happy, I’m happy, and you’re welcome in my house anytime. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Okay,” Edward agrees quickly, smiling down at the short woman.

“Now, let’s go inside before Roy-boy starts to kick up a fuss,” Chris says and Edward laughs, following her dutifully while she flicks her cigarette butt into an ashtray and steps back inside.

 

//

 

Chris pulls Alphonse aside before the Elric brothers get ready to leave, giving Edward and Roy some time to themselves.

They quickly kiss and move hair from each other’s eyes before Edward breaks the tender silence. “Hey,” he says, golden eyes drinking in the sight of his boyfriend. “This was a good idea.”

Mustang grumbles. “I knew you would love my mother. She’s probably looking to adopt you as we speak.”

“Who wouldn’t want me as a son? I fuckin’ _rule_ ,” Edward claims and Mustang snorts. “Seriously, though, she’s cool. She cares about you a lot, asshole.”

“I know,” Mustang replies with a soft sigh and a grimace. “I just don’t want to worry her. When my schedule gets crazy, I tend to forget a lot of things because I get so caught up in all of the case details. I’m a perfectionist, and I often let said perfectionism ruin good things for me.”

“Yeah,” Edward replies, “I get it.”

Mustang pauses before asking, “Will you stay with me, even if my life tumbles out of control? I rarely sleep when I have cases and I’m often grumpy, but I do…I do _love_ you, Edward.” He flushes hot at the confession and Edward flushes in turn. “Is it too soon to say that?”

“Nah,” the blonde covers his mouth in embarrassment, turning away from Mustang’s earnest gaze for a minute. “I mean, I feel the same. Fuck, I’m so bad with words.” He draws in a deep breath and smiles at Mustang head-on. “I want to move in with you. Besides, who else is gonna keep your ass in gear when you get off track? That’s what I’m around for.”

Mustang laughs breathlessly before kissing Edward. “Right, right. So you are.”

“See you at home tomorrow?” Edward says, transitioning from calling the place Mustang’s to _theirs_ so quickly that the brunette experiences whiplash.

“Mmhm,” Mustang hums back, seeing Edward out to his car with a wave.

 

//

 

Edward has been edging Mustang for an hour and a half and the brunette could scream—probably _has_ screamed, since Edward had removed the ball gag and allowed him to make noise.

The evening’s session has been brutal, as Edward had promised. For the first time _ever_ , Mustang’s had to use the word _yellow_ for warning, and Edward eases off of the crop lashes over his legs and the tugs of the nipple clamps to let the brunette rest.

They haven’t had much time for a scene, these last few months, and both of them have been desperate to unwind like this.

Mustang lets the rubber stopper fall out of his mouth covered in drool. His teeth have pressed marks into the material that are quick to fade, and Edward calls things to a stop with Mustang’s knees spread wide.

There are lots of things to put away this evening. The leather bindings holding Mustang’s ankles together. The elastic belt tied around his hands. Then there’s the crop, the clamps, the oils and towels and messy sheets.

Edward had nearly broken skin—Mustang had told him that he’d reached a pain threshold of eight or nine at a couple points, but that he could take it—and now, he feels ready to tumble down on the bed and rest, exhausted and boneless, skin raw.

“You did an amazing job,” Edward compliments Mustang softly as he rubs him down. “Better than anything you’ve ever done before, Roy.”

 _Fuck_. Edward’s really planning to do it this time. Mustang’s not ready—he’s been on the precipice all night, and he could readily sob at more stimulation, but all the same, he’s starving for this. Whatever Edward will offer him, Mustang would openly beg for.

Startlingly, Edward reaches for the lubricant, kneeling over Mustang so that they’re face to face, brow furrowing in concentration as he slips a finger into himself. “It’s a reward,” Edward says in a low, rough voice, “But you still can’t touch. Relax. I’ll handle everything.”

The blonde works himself open, squirts more lube over Mustang’s cock and angling himself so that he can sink his weight slowly down over Mustang. He pauses once Mustang is fully inside to clench tightly, and both of them moan at the feeling.

His hands are slippery with sweat and lube as he grips Mustang’s arms. “You were so good for me,” Edward murmurs headily, panting and gasping with red lips. Mustang shouts when Edward sits up on the balls of his feet, organic or otherwise, and rocks back down again. “You begged and you screamed and you _waited_ —god, fuck, you’re so patient, and I love that.”

He’s babbling and he’s barely touched himself. His hair is furiously falling around his face in waves and Mustang can’t muster the energy to do anything more than enjoy this. Mustang desperately repeats Edward’s name like a prayer.

Edward comes with a muttered curse and he pulls off of Mustang a second before the older man does the same, ejaculate cooling on their skin.

“Damn,” Edward breathes over Mustang’s lips, shuddering into the older man’s arms as he weaves pale fingers through Edward’s hair and they exchange deep, long kisses. “ _Damn_.”

Mustang finds himself inclined to agree with the sentiment.

 

//

 

In the aftermath of such a session, both of them are exhausted, but Edward is still tender and thorough about taking care of Mustang.

Once the room is appropriately cleaned up and all the tools and toys have been put away, Edward flops down on the bed with clean pajamas and snuggles up with his boyfriend.

“I’ve been thinking about collaring you,” he mentions softly and Mustang hums to let the blonde know that he’s listening. “It’s not like it has to be literal – you could tie something around one of your ankles, or a put on a light necklace. It’d be small enough that you could wear it under your suits.”

“Like what?” Mustang smooths tangles in Edward’s hair while they chat.

“I dunno. One of those cowrie shell bracelets that people always get on summer vacations. The material itself doesn’t matter. It’s just something like a promise ring, I guess. Something you’d wear to show that you’re mine.”

Mustang gulps at the wording. “That does sound tempting.”

“When you’re in your office, and you’re thinking about how much a case is driving you crazy—about how you could close everything and rush to defend your clients—you can think about the collar, and remember that I’m right here.” Edward smiles lazily and Mustang falls in love with him all over again.

“I’d like that,” Mustang says at last, kissing Edward on the forehead.

“Okay. Then I’ll take some measurements and start looking around tomorrow.”

 

//

 

Mustang is in the midst of a trial that has gotten amazingly ugly and out of his jurisdiction, to a degree. It’s not that people haven’t been killed for less, but that doesn’t make his job any easier.

Intellectual property is the realm of white-collar crime, and yet, partway through the court dealings, one of the men involved with the company fighting to defend its’ trademark internationally had been killed, and he’d owned a significant portion of the business.

All in all, the office is a wreck. Already, Mustang and his team have spent months and months on the mess, and Mustang falls asleep at his computer more often than he does at home, truthfully.

He’s frustrated and exhausted. Hawkeye tells him to go outside for a minute with tired eyes, if only to take his mind off of things. Mustang longs to stalk off and give his client the lecture of a lifetime for dealing with such men in the upper echelon of his business, but thinks better of it by the time he’s made himself a cup of coffee.

Once he takes a seat, the itchy feeling of something catching in his sock distracts him, and the tension seeps out of Mustang in one breath.

He remembers Edward grasping his dark bangs and pushing his head back as Mustang had given him a blow job, nails digging into the brunette's scalp. The blonde lounging around the condo wearing nothing at all, beckoning him with a toothy smile and open arms. Mustang fondly thinks of his home, of relaxation and relief and a place where he doesn’t _have_ to be in control all of the time. The fog in his brain lifts greatly.

By the time he stalks back into the office, he has a fresh expression on his face and new ideas. The team gathers around attentively and sets off on new investigative routes. This case might take all year to come to a close at this rate, but that’s alright. They’re going to do this right, and they’re going to _win_.

 

//

 

 _Hey, Hughes,_ Edward texts the man late at night while Mustang snores next to him. _What made you think I’d be a good fit for Mustang anyways?_

_You’re smart enough not to buy into his b.s., and he needed someone around that wouldn’t leave when his life got complicated. Does it really matter now, Ed?_

Edward looks down at the glimmering trinket resting on Mustang’s left ankle, complete with a little set of horns on the charm. He grins broadly, holding down the desire to cackle. _No, I guess not. Still on for dinner next Friday?_

_If you have to drag Roy to our house, then do it. Absolutely._

The blonde sets the phone down and throws his left thigh across Mustang’s with a smile.

In the end, coming home to this is all that matters.


End file.
